


the sky collapsed but the stars remain

by ciaconnaa



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Gen, I'll add more character tags as they appear in the story, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), but now his Other Son is here, so much angst over peter parker because Tony Loved His Son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-08-23 21:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa
Summary: On the day of the Snap, Harley Keener watches his mother turn to dust.With a duty to look after his younger sister, the two of them abandon the wilting town of Rose Hill in search of Tony Stark. Because if Harley helped him before, he can damn well help him again. Tony's a mechanic. He fixes things.To put it simply, they have to fix this.





	1. Chapter 1

Three weeks after his mother turned to dust, Harley Keener starts to truly _panic._

He’s kept it together as best he can for his little sister because that’s honestly what he’s always done. Ariel has always been a smidge on the _annoying_ side and he’s done his fair share of making her throw a tantrum but he’ll be _damned_ if he makes his baby sister cry. At first it can’t be helped; their mother is gone, dead, turned to _dust_ in the middle of a Saturday lunch and Ariel cries. They both do. But then the news comes in. Airplanes drop out of the sky. Cars crash by the thousands, all at once. Chaos erupts from the ashes all around the world, but the sleepy town of Rose Hill, Tennessee becomes sleepier and Harley gets it together. It seems the random selection of _half the universe_ just so happens to take most of his town.

That’s what Captain America says. It’s not just Earth, it’s half the universe. He and a few of the Avengers that have survived “ _The Snap”_ as they’re all calling it, but only just a few.

Tony Stark is MIA.

His mother is _gone._ But he still has Ariel and they still have _food_ and he’s not paying bills and miraculously the power is still on but it won’t be for long. Rose Hill will be too sleepy for the ones who are left and they’ll have to leave when this place turns to dust as well. He doesn’t know where they’ll go. The only other somewhat competent adult he knows that he can even entertain the thought about asking for help is fucking _missing_ because he was last seen on a _spaceship_ that catapulted out of orbit.

Harley remembers watching the footage from his laptop, puzzled. Tony’s afraid of space. The whole wormhole with the nuke freaked him out. He’s surprised he went back.

He supposes that’s what makes--made--no, makes, him Iron Man.

No, Harley thinks. It’s what makes him _stupid._

A week goes by, then two. After three, when the panic of _permanence_ in their situation settles and nests in the back of his brain, Ariel shoves an iPad in his face.

“Harley, look--Iron Man is back!”

And wow, look at that, he is. The newsreel shows Tony Stark and some unidentifiable, scary-looking blue lady come off some alien ship. There’s no suit, no tech, no _nothing._ Just the world’s most exhausted, blood-crusted man in a dusty track suit looking utterly _defeated._

It’s not a good look for him.

Harley feels he should tell him so. Personally. Face to face.

He still keeps the note from _The_ _Mechanic_ tacked up on the garage wall. Without much courtesy to the crippling panic that’s been flipping his stomach for hours, he snaps up from the workbench and takes the note down, tossing it in the front of the shiny red mustang that was gifted to him five years ago.

“Pack your things,” Harley says shortly, looking around for anything and everything in his workshop that’s useful. “We’re leaving.”

Eleven year old Ariel looks at him like he’s crazy. “Why? Where would we go?”

Harley finishes tossing every single potato gun in his possession into the trunk. Maybe it’s excessive. Yeah definitely excessive. He starts to take them out. “You’re always begging for rides in these things and now that you’re getting one handed to you on a silver platter, you’re _questioning_ it?”

“Uh, yeah?” She rolls her eyes. “Where are we _going?”_

His head is still in the trunk. “New York.”

She blinks, startling slightly when Harley carelessly tosses one of the potato guns out and it breaks on the floor. “Is this because of Iron Man?” she asks dubiously, watching as her brother empties his entire box of electromagnets in the trunk. “I know he said he did all this stuff…but you haven’t talked to him since. Who says he’ll even remember you?”

“He might not,” Harley admits begrudgingly, shutting the trunk a little too harshly. He starts throwing blankets in the back seat. “But it’s worth a shot.”

Ariel groans. “There’s no way he’ll remember you. This is pointless.”

“So is staying here.”

“...what if Mom comes back?”

“What if Dad comes back?” Harley spits back, regretting it instantly.  “No, sorry, no,” he backtracks as fast as he can, before Ariel can shout or scream or _cry._ “I didn’t mean that. It’s just….you saw what happened. She can’t _come back,_ not without some,” he sputters, trying to find the words as he waves his arms about, “cosmic magical power helping her. Helping everyone.”

To her credit, she doesn't seem phased by his outburst. “Sooo...like Thor?”

“Yeah, something like Thor. And where there’s Thor, there’s probably Iron Man. And all that’s in New York. So that’s where we’re going.”

“To….?”

“Help Tony.”

Ariel still doesn’t look pleased.

“Look,” he sighs. “How about you write her a note telling her where we’re going. So if there is magic and she comes back, she’ll know what's going on. Got it?”

Her posture crumples and she pouts, accepting her fate of riding fourteen hours in a car with her older brother. “Yeah, okay. Fine. God, I hate magic. Even science-magic. But definitely magic-magic.”

Harley snorts. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

The drive is excruciating.

Harley used to think traffic was the worst part about driving. It isn’t. For the first fifty miles or so, there’s almost no one on the road. But then the carnage appears. Ariel feels the need to point out every single abandoned, dented car that’s pushed out of the road, trying to name the model and the year in the early evening darkness.

“Can you just,” he swallows uneasily as the wind whips his hair in his face. Ariel is wrinkling her nose as they pass a large, four car pile up, and doesn’t mention the stench in the air or the human hair sticking out from underneath an overturned pick-up. “...stick to navigating? And tell me when you see a sad-looking gas station.”

“You filled the car before we left,” his sister reminds him. "And the spare jugs."

“Just do it, Ariel.”

They pull over an hour later at a gas station that is decidedly not open, despite the lights being on. There’s only one car in the parking lot and Harley fears there’s nothing but a pile of ash behind the register.

He tells Ariel to wait in the car and because she’s _Ariel_ she’s right at his heels as he steps inside. The bell rings overhead and he instinctively looks to the counter, but no one is there. The store is empty, not raided, and eerily quiet.

“Grab what you need,” Harley tells her. “As much as you can carry, honestly. Don’t know what it’s like in New York.”

She’s already stuffing cookies into her backpack. “Hey, If they still make pizza when we get there, can we get some? I heard it's good.”

"Which place?"

"Just...pizza. New York pizza."

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous,” he mumbles as he hops over the counter. He forces himself not to look at the floor before he begins to repeatedly hit at the register.

“What are you doing?” Ariel asks. There’s half a Slim Jim in her mouth.

“Stealing?” he says, like it’s a dumb question. Because it is a dumb question. They need money.

“I know that, it’s just…” she’s suddenly in his space, shoving him aside and his foot slips on what definitely feels like dirt and he tries not to vomit.

Harley distracts himself by watching his little sister pull out a small crowbar from her backpack. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“It was in the garage,” she shrugs, wedging it into the drawer. “I wasn’t about to leave it behind. Haven’t you seen a single piece of apocalyptic media? You always need a crowbar.”

“You play too many video games,” he says, reaching over her to help break open the register. “And we’re not in an _apoca--”_

The register busts open with a ding, revealing the til in all it’s hundred and fifty dollar glory.

Ariel is the one that ends up pocketing the money, stuffing some of it in her back pockets, in Harley’s jacket, in the backpack. “You were saying?”

He stares around at the empty gas station and realizes that maybe it _is_ the apocalypse.

He keeps his mouth shut.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think he brought Spider-Man back?”

Harley side-eyes Ariel, gripping the wheel a little more tightly. They’d been doing a real good job at the Quiet Game for the past two hours, only having to put up with the sounds of her eating an entire bag of potato chips. “Who?”

“Tony.” Ariel elaborates. “The videos of him fighting in New York. He was with a wizard and Spider-Man. No one knows if they all got on the spaceship.”

“A wizard.”

“I know, I know, but that’s what the Youtube comments say.” She sighs, fishing out his phone from his jacket pocket. “Magic is _stupid,”_ she reiterates. Her face lights up when she turns his phone on and he can tell she’s surfing the web which is good. They have a signal. They have data. They just have to hold out a little longer.

Harley knows a _little_ about Spider-Man. He popped up almost two years ago, first as some poorly dressed vigilante of Queens and then as a full-fledged looking superhero, courtesy of Tony Stark himself. Even though Spider-Man seems to deal with small crimes like robberies or using his strength to prevent car crashes, they always seem to be associated, Iron Man and Spider-Man, which in Harley’s book is good. Tony always seemed to be a bit of a loner and ever since Captain America became a war criminal and that whole story blew up in the news, he didn’t think Iron Man would be a team player ever again. But it seem he makes a few exceptions, most of them being Spider-Man.

“I dunno,” Harley finally says. “I didn’t hear anything about him in the news.” Which is true. No one knows Spider-Man’s true identity, so it’s hard to put a pin on his whereabouts. The videos don’t give much clues, not like the ones that show Iron Man running after the spaceship.

“Then he probably died,” Ariel admits woefully. “Right? I mean, he would have come back with Tony if he wasn’t dead.”

Harley shrugs. “He might not have been on the spaceship due to all the _magic._ You know. From the _wizard._ You think he knows Harry Potter?” He gasps dramatically. “Shit, you think he _was_ Harry Potter? _”_

Ariel rolls her eyes and ignores him. “I don’t think Spider-Man would let Tony on a spaceship _by himself._ They’re _friends.”_

“Eh, I don’t think Tony really has friends.”

His sister snorts in protest. “Uh, just because he didn’t want to be _your_ friend, doesn’t mean he hasn’t got any, dummy.”

At the sound of her laughter, he takes one hand off the wheel to shove in her face.

Once she’s calmed down and threatened to shove Cheetos up his nose if he didn’t get his hands _out of her face_ _,_ she curls back up in her seat, eyelids heavy. “I hope Spider-Man is back in Queens.” she mumbles, already drifting off. “I want his autograph.”

“I thought you wanted Thor’s autograph,” he said, recalling their conversations over the past years concerning Avengers and favorite superheroes.

“No, I want to _marry_ Thor. Ugh, _keep up.”_

The car falls silent after that and Harley is a little grateful. This whole trip is pretty ridiculous and while, yeah, it’s worth a shot, it’s a pretty….daunting shot to take. It’s making his mind race. There’s no way he can know if Tony will stay in New York with the other Avengers. Hell, he doesn’t really even know if he’s _okay._ All anyone’s seen is him getting off the spaceship looking half dead.

But as he listens to his sisters soft snores, he knows he has to _try._ Harley saved the day once before. He didn’t do much, just recharged the suit and made minor repairs, but it _helped._ He even managed to calm Tony down from an anxiety attack. Harley can help again. All he needs is a chance, with some adults that he can trust. For his sanity’s sake. For Ariel’s sake.

He pushes down on the gas pedal a little harder and prays that Tony and all of New York doesn’t fall apart before he gets there.


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere in Virginia, the Mustang fails him.

It’s not a big deal. Harley can fix it. He nor Ariel bats an eye when they have to pull over at the crack of dawn because his shiny, but undeniably old car, starts spitting out smoke like a chimney. Even though Tony Stark and his fancy company have some of the world’s most advanced and cleanest energy, it appears Iron Man doesn’t seem to be too fond of messing with the originality of vintage cars; everything is as updated and untampered with as possible, a full and true restoration.

Which is why it breaks down. But it’s okay. Harley can fix it.

As he sticks his head under the hood, a small flashlight between his teeth, Ariel fishes out the portable radio they have and starts fishing for a channel. Old car, old radio. It’s fitting. “I wonder if DJ Rocket Man is okay.” She muses aloud.

DJ Rocket Man is nothing but a mediocre show hosted by a Tennessee college student that they pick up at their house. She doesn’t play anything special, doesn’t talk about anything in particular, but Ariel likes her. She’s funny, she plays soothing music, and Harley hears his sister shuffling around in her room at midnight every Thursday night just to catch the show.

“You won’t get the station here,” Harley says around the flashlight.

“I know _that,”_ and the eye roll is evident in her tone. “I was just wondering. I liked that station,” she says petulantly, defensively.

The loss of parents and friends is a heavy, glaring loss. But people like DJ Rocket Man, or convenience store clerks, or the same, really nice waiter that they always saw at their favorite diner down the road are really hard to let go of as well. Before, Harley and everyone else on the planet could tell you (statistically, morally, you name it) how terrible a hypothetical “snap” would be. How much it would hurt the people who were left behind.  But now that something this awful has actually _happened_ , he’s surprised how much he misses the people who drifted in and out of his life.  He didn't account for the people who were barely even a part of his life at all.

People like Tony.

He misses them.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he says, taking the flashlight out of his mouth. “Haven’t you been listening to her show since...well.”

“...I’ve been too scared to check,” Ariel admits softly. “Since the town got dusted.” She leans against the side of the car and slides all the way down. “And even if she were still here, she wouldn’t still do her show. ”

“You don’t know that." But she's probably right. Entertainment has been hijacked for news and information updates. Not many people have tried to use their platforms to cheer people up. It's still too soon.

Ariel hums dismissively and focuses on the radio in her hands. There’s nonsensical static ringing in their ears for maybe five minutes before she picks up an _actual_ channel.

_“...Stark Tower remains to be the epicenter of relief efforts in New York. Their teams extend to Midtown High in Queens--”_

“Stop! Don’t change that,” Harley barks, dropping the flashlight in the process. It rolls down the road and Ariel manages to stop it with her foot before they have to chase it.

“I wasn’t gonna, sheesh, relax,” She mumbles, kicking the flashlight over. He abandons the work for a moment and slides down next to her, watching as she fiddles with the knobs and antenna to get the clearest sound.

“... _and offer humanitarian relief for anyone in need._ _Stark Industries is working with the government to compile a list of missing persons and Tony Stark--”_

Harley’s heart leaps into his throat at the mention of the name, but as fate would have it the sound cuts off and static roars in their ears, making them both jump.

“Goddammit,” Harley swears, swiping the radio from his sister’s hands. He fiddles with the antenna but he can’t find the signal. It’s gone and he’s pissed. “God _dammit.”_

He throws the radio and it tumbles down the hill and into the forest.

“Well," she frowns. " _That_ was unnecessary.” She pulls out his phone that she had nabbed earlier and pulls up Google. “I can just...look it up.”

Harley groans, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah I know. It’s just. I don’t know how long our phones are gonna work.”

Ariel waves her hand around. “Eh. You packed all your fancy batteries and wires and other portable _science._ If the phone dies, just...jump start it.”

“Jump start a phone,” he grumbles, getting to his feet. He wipes his palms on the back of his jeans and puts the flashlight between his teeth, diving under the hood once more. “Yeah. I’ll just jump start the fucking phone.” The awful part of her entire turn a phrase is that he….can probably, more or less, jump start the phone.

 _“Mouth,”_ Ariel says in what is such a scary good impression of their mother, Harley nearly whips his head up and smacks it against the hood in surprise. It sends a shiver up both their spines as they’re metaphorically body-slammed by reality yet again, but they dust themselves off and keep going, Harley with the car, Ariel with the phone. Sorta. “No signal,” she announces with a sigh. She turns off the phone and pockets it. “Probably should wait until we get to New York.”

“Yeah,” Harley agrees. “I guess we can head to….Midtown High first,” he says, recalling the broadcast. “In Queens.”

“Why not just go to the fancy tower he lives in first? That’s where Tony will be, right?”

Hopefully. But if it really is the epicenter, there’s going to be a lot of people who want Tony and his crew’s attention, and Harley’s smart enough to know he’s not on the guest list. The branches of their work relief are a better start. “We should probably get a good grip on what’s going on first before….marching up there with no plan."

"You don't have a _plan?"_

"Um, I do _now._ Aren't you listening? Queens first then the tower. Hey, maybe you can look for Spider-Man and get that marriage proposal.”

“Thor. It’s _Thoooooor._ Ugh. Just fix the stupid car so we can get there already.”

He does just that.

 

* * *

 

“Holy _shit.”_

Harley doesn’t bother to chastise Ariel on her language, because he is _right_ there with her. The city of New York is worse than he imagined. He had purposely avoided all major cities and highways in fear of car pile ups, but now it’s unavoidable. And _God,_ are there a lot of cars. And these aren’t the kind that are filled with dust and pushed aside by the others who survived. These are all dented, crushed, and completely totaled. Some crashed into storefronts. There’s evidence of fires. Buildings that burned to the ground. There’s an airplane that decimated a few blocks.

And by _god,_ the _ash._

There aren’t many drivers on the road, the city reduced to make-shift two lane roads, so he slows down as he reaches behind him for a blanket and hands it to a coughing Ariel.

“Gross,” she whines. “Is this from the fires?”

That’s Harley’s first instinct, because why wouldn’t it be. But then he realizes. Half the world turned to dust.

He abruptly pulls over to throw up. The Chips Ahoy he stuffed in his mouth twenty minutes ago do not taste as good the second time around.

Ariel’s kid brain hasn’t caught on that it's not all from fires; that, or she chooses to ignore it. She calls his name worriedly as she passes over a warm bottle of lemonade and he chugs it, trying not to think about how his mouth tastes like ash.

“Keep your mouth covered,” he says, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I’ll get us some masks.”

He finds Midtown High easily enough. There are signs to Queens and from there, homemade posters stuck to buildings and traffic poles that help guide him the rest of the way. The traffic is….chaotic, if only due to the abandoned clutter and destruction on the street, but there aren’t many people driving. They’re all walking.

The Mustang draws more than one person’s attention as he drives up to the school, but he’s only given a few glances before they go back to standing in their lines for food, water, blankets and whatever else this place is handing out. Maybe phone chargers, if he’s lucky.

“We should have taken Mom’s car,” Ariel grumbles, and Harley doesn’t really blame her. The car is so shiny and clean compared to the rest of the city. They stick out. They’re nonthreatening targets in a dull, ashen city.

Maybe all the better to find Tony.

Harley hops out of the car, forgoing the door entirely, and grabs his tattered camo baseball cap from the backseat, slapping it over his oily hair. He follows the sway of his sister’s long braid as she bypasses the longer lines and goes to a small card table set up in front of a school bus in the parking lot. It’s being manned by two people, kids his own age, both wearing Midtown High student t-shirts. They've got a few supplies, mostly water bottles from what he can see underneath and behind the table, and they each have a brand new SI tablet.

“You’re not from around here,” the girl drawls without looking up from the tablet she’s scrolling through. She’s wearing a name tag, but it’s blank.

Harley sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels. His mission to get to New York has kept him awake for a solid 36 hours but now that he’s here, he’s exhausted and at a loss of what to do next. He wants to curl up into his car and take a nap.

“Sweet ride,” The boy next to her says. His name tag serves its God given purpose and says _Ned._ “That’s a what, ‘68?”

“‘64,” Ariel says, sleeve covering her mouth. “But those old cars all look the same,” and Harley fights to roll his eyes. “Do you guys have masks?”

“You really aren’t from around here, huh?” Ned smiles sympathetically and hands them both masks, and Harley tries not to be too urgent about snapping it around his mouth. “The wind is a bit heavy today. It usually isn’t this bad.” Ned and the girl both have masks, but theirs are loose around their necks. He doesn't like the idea that they're used to it. 

The girl looks up and cranes her neck. “Tennessee,” she says, and it takes Harley a moment before he realizes she’s reading the license plate. “D.C was closer. Or Atlanta. Family here?” she asks, already plucking the stylus from behind her ear and looking back down at the tablet.

“No,” Harley says with a shake of his head. “Not really. Family friend.”

The girl nods. “I can see if they checked in. Name?”

Fuck. He’s going to sound crazy. “Tony.”

She simply sighs, gesturing for him to keep going.

“....Tony Stark.”

That causes her to look up, eyebrow quirked. “Tony Stark.”

Ariel is the first to jump in and fill in the pieces. She pulls the mask away and says, “He gave us the car. Supposedly. I never got to meet him. But apparently he broke into the garage and Harley threatened him with a potato gun and then they went downtown and blew up the water tower in the spirit of Christmas.”

“I….” Harley struggles underneath the student’s skeptical gazes. “That’s a bit of a _paraphrase,_ but she’s right,” he admits, removing the mask that muffles his voice. “More or less. People were on fire, I attacked a human bomb with a pinata for a cricket it was. Weird.” He shrugs. “But recharging JARVIS was cool.”

“A pinata for a cricket.” the girl deadpans.

“Anti-bullying mechanism,” Harley says as means of explanation. He sighs and fidgets with the mask that's now around his neck. “Look, I know I sound crazy but…” He sighs again, hanging his head. There's no way he can get to Tony, not through these kids. He needs a new plan. “Forget it. I’m….yeah. I can try the tower I guess.”

“Wait.”

Harley lifts his head to find the girl squinting at him, stylus pointed at Ariel. “She said your name was Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“Harley from Tennessee.”

He isn’t following. “Yes.”

“Harley _Keener_ from _Rose Hill_ Tennessee.”

He freezes, posture going stiff. He looks at Ariel, who looks as spooked as he feels. “...How did you know that?”

“Because,” she says slowly, “I heard him this morning. Stark tried to call you. You didn’t pick up.”

Beside them, Ned blinks. “You remembered his name?”

“Of course. Did you forget who you were talking to?”

Harley’s eyes widen, a million emotions washing over him at once. He’s shocked, touched, and a little skeptical of the whole thing, if he’s being honest. The circumstances seem too good to be true. “Wait, Tony tried to call me? How do _you_ know him?”

"Long story." The girl is still impressively...passive. “You didn't pick up," she repeats.

"Landline," he blurts, pulling out his own cellphone. "He probably called the landline. He doesn't have my other number. I haven't seen him in five years."

"He thinks you’re dead.”

“Well,” Harley holds his arms out in a wide gesture before he drops them to his side. “I’m here. Not dead.”

“I can see that.” The girl says and she sets down her tablet, reaching for a phone in her back pocket. “Wait one second,” she says, holding up a finger. She presses some number on speed dial and Harley can hear the faint sound of ringing before the other person on the line picks up.

 _“Hello? Michelle?”_ Harley hears a voice, a woman’s voice say.

“You’ll never guess who showed up to the school,” Michelle, as it would seem, says before she tries handing over the phone entirely.

Harley gawks, staring at the phone in her outstretched hand before Michelle rolls her eyes and slaps it in his palm, gesturing for him to take the call.

 _“Who? What’s going on?”_ Harley hears as he presses the phone to his ear.

He looks to Ariel for some kind guidance, as if an eleven year old would know what to do in this situation, but all she does is shrug dramatically, so he goes back to staring at some uninteresting spot on the pavement. “Uhh….hello?” Harley finally says. “Hi.”

“... _Who is this.”_

“My name is….Harley? Harley….Keener?”

There’s silence on the other end. And then, _“Harley from Rose Hill Tennessee?”_

“Yes,” he drags the word out. Why does everyone know where he's from? “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on. This girl just handed me the phone,” he admits.

He gets no elaboration. _“Tony tried calling you.”_

“So I’ve heard. You can tell him I’m not dead.” He pauses, stealing another glanced a Ariel who looks like she's about to kick him in the shin. Right. _They_ should tell him. “Or...I can. If that’s possible. He’s..kinda why I drove up here.”

_“In that Mustang, I assume. I hope you liked the color. I wanted to go with blue, but you know how is with the hot rod red.”_

He's never been so out of the loop in his life. And he was a part of the whole Mandarin fiasco. "Right. Um,” his voice pitches up, “I’m sorry, but who is this?”

_“Pepper Potts.”_

Harley recognizes the name from the papers over the years: she’s Tony’s wife, or something of the like. Definitely the CEO of Stark Industries. Her name has been blasted all over the news, first concerning Tony’s MIA status and then his surprising return. He’s suddenly hit with the mental image of Tony returning to Earth and he has to ask, “Is Tony okay?”

 _“He’s….alive,”_ she mumbles, and Harley feels both relief and dread. Alive is good, but if alive is the best description she can give, he must be in pretty bad shape. _“Come to the tower, you can see him.”_

The mix of emotions intensifies. Harley's never been much for anxiety, especially the past few years, but this is...different. He's seen Tony at a low point, seen what the PTSD did to him, and he's suddenly struck with the idea that it's gotten  _worse_  for Tony.And that scares him a bit. Harley hopes he can handle seeing him like that, because he didn't drive all the way here with Ariel just to chicken out. “Sure," he squeaks out. "When?”

 _“Now,”_ Pepper’s voice is tight. _“If you can. As soon as possible. He...I think he really needs to see you.”_

Harley is more than confused. He came to New York on a long shot and now he’s here, talking to the CEO of Stark Industries by pure _luck_ and she’s telling him that Tony Stark, Iron Man himself, really needs to see him, Harley Keener of NowheresVille, Tennessee. It goes everything against Tony’s original attitude towards him, even if it fulfills Harley’s personal wishes to help and make a difference.

“Why me?”

 _“Because you’re still here,”_ she whispers _. “See you soon, Harley.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember the model of the car in the garage. I tried to find a clip of it, but I didn't. I went with '64. It doesn't matter. also this fic is bad but it's f UN. I forgot how much I love writing fics like this cHEERS


	3. Chapter 3

As they’re getting ready to leave, Ned makes a hushed comment about how he would _die_ if he got to drive a car that cool and since Harley is an opportunist a heart, he is more than happy to shove the keys in Ned’s hands.

“Please, be my guest,” and he doesn’t even blink when he squeals in delight. “It’s a stick shift, is that okay?”

Ned is all smiles when he reveals, “Maybe! I haven’t driven a car before in my life!”

He honestly can’t bring himself to even care. He’s too tired. Ned stands a better chance  on getting them to the tower due to the fact that he looks like he’s _slept_ in the past few days.

“...That’s fine,” Harley shrugs. Next to him, Ariel makes a squeak in protest. “You’ll figure it out. Ariel will give you the run down.”

Michelle stays behind to work on relief efforts while the three of them pile into the front bench of the car. Harley sticks Ariel in the middle and immediately closes his eyes, curling into himself as he listens to her give Ned lessons in driving. It's amusing, considering she's never driven a day in her life either, but she knows the car inside and out.

“How do you even know how to do this?” Ned finally asks her as his ten minute crash course ends and they pull out of the high school parking lot. “You’re like, ten.”

“I’m eleven,” Ariel corrects, “And I just….pay attention. I’ve seen Harley drive.”

His eyes are still closed as he lets his head fall to rest on her shoulder. “Eidetic memory,” he mumbles. “She remembers _everything.”_

“That’s not true,” Ariel rolls her eyes. “I just...remember _a lot.”_

“Yeah, I get it,” Ned sighs from the driver’s seat. “My friend Peter was a lot like that.”

Harley picks up on the past tense; it’s something he was acutely aware of back in Rose Hill. Ariel, despite her keen memory, doesn't pick up on it. “Really? Was it just with like pictures or,” Ariel starts to say, simultaneously trying to shrug Harley off her shoulder. He wraps both his arms around hers in protest. “Harley,” she whines suddenly. The mood shifts as he cuddles beside her. “Get off. I can smell your breath and it _stinks.”_

“Does not.”

“Does _too._ Ugh, and you just threw up a while ago! It smells like…..pizza!”

Harley opens his eyes to an ashen sky and looks up at his sister, confused. “My vomit breath smells like _pizza?”_

“No,” and she shoves him upright, pointing to a still-standing pizzeria on the right side of the road. “New York pizza. Still open.”

Resigning to his fate that he’ll be up for another good few hours, he sits up properly in the seat, watching as the _open_ sign blinks despite a few broken bulbs. “Just ‘cause the sign is up doesn’t mean they’re open. I mean...look around.”

“Oh, no, they’re open,” Ned promises. “They’ve been a real help. They make as many pizzas as they can during regular business hours. If you don't have money, they'll just give them to you, free of charge. After a few days, people started bringing them pizza supplies and other food to put in the ovens since these few blocks are some of the few that probably won’t suffer from a gas leak or electrical hazard. If it wasn’t for them and Delmar’s, I dunno if Midtown could be a relief station.”

“What’s Delmar’s?”

Ned smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Delmar’s Deli. Best sandwiches in Queens. You guys wanna try them?”

Harley has to pinch Ariel in the arm to keep her from crying _pizza_ and he agrees with a muttered thank you. The next block over is Delmar’s and Harley resigns himself to sit in the car and try to nap as Ned takes Ariel and his order inside, but it's useless. He's awake. In five minutes they return with three sandwiches and a pack of gum, which she drops with dramatic flare in Harley’s lap.

“That sandwich and vomit breath aren’t gonna mix,” Ariel assures him before she reaches into Harley’s pocket and grabs a twenty from the wad of stolen cash, handing it to a protesting Ned.

“No, no, you keep it,” he promises. “I don’t need it. Tony Stark hook-ups and all.”

It takes Ned a few tries to get the car going. He nearly misses a fire hydrant and _definitely_ runs up on a curb (“Sorry, so sorry!”) but they’re on the way to the tower soon enough. Harley wants nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep, or at least stew in silence trying to think of what he’s going to say when he meets Tony and Pepper, but Ariel has different ideas. She’s awake and observant and _eleven_ so she’s got shit to ask.

“How do you know Tony Stark, anyway?”

“Uh,” his voice pitches up a bit, catching Harley’s attention. “Through Peter? That friend I mentioned? He was Tony Stark’s personal intern.”

“Personal Intern,” Harley mumbles, unwrapping his sandwich. He splits it in half before he glances over at Ariel’s and sees hers is ham with....an absurd amount of pickles, at Ned’s recommendation, apparently. “I wouldn’t think Tony the type.”

Ned shrugs, eyes on the road. “I see what you mean. But he and Peter….Peter made something that caught his eye,” he explains. “Tony asked to see it and it just kind of went from there. They were a good fit.”

Harley’s not an idiot--there’s more to it, but he respects whatever reason Ned has for holding back. That, or his exhaustion is keeping him from being a nosy, little shit.

“Peter probably made something better than a potato gun,” Ariel smirks. “That’s all Harley was worth five years ago.”

“Not true,” Harley defends blandly. “I also had a very interesting box of magnets.”

“Did you really do what you said?” Ned blurts out. “Tony said you helped him but he didn’t go into detail. You blew up a water tower? With….a cricket pinata?”

“Pretty much,” Harley agrees with a curt nod. “The cricket pinata was like...a non-lethal explosive that had been in the suit. There’s more to it, but I don’t know everything. Tony kept me out of the loop as much as he could on account of I was just some little kid. I was pissed but like...I get it now. Especially after one of the bad guys tried to kill me. That sucked.”

Ariel slaps his arm. Hard. _“You never mentioned that!”_

“Meh,” he waves his hand, and some of the sandwich filling falls out. He swipes it with his finger and sticks it in his mouth. “It wasn’t a very exciting threat.”

Another slap. “Harley!”

“Relax. I’m _alive,_ and I’m sure he’s _dead,_ so it doesn’t matter anymore.”

His words blanket the car in silence and Harley mentally curses himself. He’s not the only one that survived this fucked up rapture, not by a long shot, but there’s something that feels _taboo_ about that kind of declaration, even if he’s talking about five years ago. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Harley groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What for?” Ned says softly. “Don’t feel guilty for being alive.”

“I don’t, it’s just…that was crude and with everyone _..._ ”

Where Harley fails, Ariel picks up the slack. “We’ll get everybody back,” she whispers, voice barely loud enough over the wind. She turns to Ned.  “That’s what Harley says. I mean...he thinks Tony and all the Avengers will do most of the heavy lifting. With science-magic. And maybe magic-magic. We’ll just help.”

Ned smiles. “We’re the guys in the chairs.”

“Huh?”

Ned shakes his head. “Ah, nothing.” He stops at a red light at an intersection that looks, miraculously, normal. “What's with the different magic classifications?”

“It’s some _bullshit_ ,” Ariel cries, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Aliens are the worst.”

Harley couldn’t agree more.

 

* * *

 

Harley’s seen the Stark Tower on TV, in newspapers, from pictures online, but being in front of it is something else. Despite the destruction around them it remains intact; dusty, but intact. He catches people looking up at it as they walk as if just a glimpse gives them enough hope to carry on with the rest of their day.

Ned looks like he belongs as he parks the car and leads them through the tower to the elevators. He doesn’t even have to flash a badge; several security people give him a nod in greeting and once the doors to the elevator closes, Ned says, “Hey, FRIDAY. Can you take us to the MedBay?”

_“Certainly, Mr. Leeds.”_

The voice is new, different. He wonders what happened to JARVIS. But that’s not the most concerning part of that conversation. “MedBay?” Harley frowns. “Just how hurt is he?”

Ned shrugs as Ariel presses her face to the glass window of the elevator, mumbling about how she’s never been that high before. “I really wouldn’t know,” Ned admits. “He got a wound on that alien planet, but I don’t know how serious it was. But he’s okay.”

He doesn’t completely buy that.

But Harley hums in acknowledgement before he adjusts the one surviving strap of Ariel’s backpack that he took up with them from the car. It’s got some snacks, including half the sandwich he never finished from Delmar’s, as well as the looted cash from the gas station. The crowbar bumps against his back and he has to swallow a groan as the elevator stops at one of the top floors.

Ned steps out first, Ariel hot on his heels, but Harley lingers. The nervousness he felt when he first drove in to the city is creeping back. The adrenaline is heightening his senses and making him awake and he _hates_ the feeling. That’s all he’s been running on for days. Adrenaline and Red Bull and _fear._ Everything Tony pretty much runs on, if he has to guess. He’s going to crash and it won’t be pretty.

The floor is vast but empty as he walks through the wide hall, passing closed doors. Somewhere out of his sight Harley can hear the click-clack of heels and then a woman who sounds _kinda_ like the woman on the phone is giving her greetings, but he can't be sure. But then Harley turns a corner and spots one open door that sources a voice that _definitely_ sounds familiar.

“Hmm. You’re not Keener.”

“Well, technically, I _am.”_

Holy shit. That really is his voice.

_That’s Tony Stark._

“Ah. The infamous little sister,” he hears him say. “Loved the watch, by the way.”

“Thanks. Put Rolex to shame.”

“Don’t know about that. You got a name?”

“Ariel.”

“Like the mermaid? Don’t tell me you have her watch, too.”

Harley finally steps into the doorway then, the grip on the backpack strap lethal. He’s a little surprised to see Tony is sitting in a wheelchair, using a lifted hospital cot as a makeshift desk; it’s covered in a few legal pads, a disassembled weapon….thing, and a StarkPad that’s projecting a bunch of blueprints and mathematical equations that are way beyond his high school math class comprehension.

He doesn’t see Harley, not at first; he’s too busy leaning in towards Ariel, tapping his watch and watching her light up with excitement as the watch projects a hologram of his vitals. “Now this, this puts a Rolex to shame. Way more high tech. And useful.”

“Dope,” she agrees. “Does it come in pink?”

“Pink. You want my watch in pink.”

“Yes.”

“Sure,” he say after a beat. “I can make it in pink.”

Harley figures now is as good a time as ever as he sets the book bag down and fishes for the sandwich, hastily rewrapped in wrinkled paper. “...Hey, Tony.”

Tony whips his head around and his eyes widen.

The face that Harley always remember when he thinks of Tony Stark is a little worse for wear. When Tony broke into the garage he was injured, his face battered in crusted blood, his arm scraped and full of stuff he spent the whole night picking out with a pair of pliers. And when he went to the bar, when he blew up the water tower, when he got in the car and drove away, his face was became progressively more...bloodied. Harley always knew Tony Stark as an injured man.

Now, his face is clean. There’s evidence of old wounds, scars that weren’t there before, as well as new wrinkles around his eyes and more grey in his beard. There’s bags under his eyes, sure, but there isn’t _blood_. Harley’s eyes flicker downwards to his waist, all wrapped up in bandages, and then down to his legs, which _seem_ perfectly fine. He _seems_ ….okay.

But he’s not. That’s what the wheelchair is for. Something is _wrong._ After all this time, Tony is still an injured man.

“Keener.” Tony clicks his tongue, expression neutral. “You didn’t pick up the phone. I think I said to stay by the phone, did I not?"

Harley remembers that. Tony remembers that.

They  _remember._

And just like that, his nerves melt away.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He takes the sandwich and chucks it Tony’s way. He catches it with his right arm, eyes never leaving Harley’s. “Busy getting your sandwich.”

Tony unwraps the food, huffing in disbelief. “Tuna fish.”

“Exactly. Just like you asked.”

“Uh, _yeah_ , five years ago.”

“Better late than never.”

Finally, a smile. Small and slanted and a little weary, but a smile.

Harley kicks aside his pack just as Tony braces both arms on the wheelchair, the left far shakier than the right, and hoists himself up. Ned and the woman (Pepper if Harley had to guess), both voice their protests but he mumbles that he’s fine, he can stand for a bit, don’t fret, and hobbles over to greet him.

“Oh, good,” Harley mumbles, watching his legs for any unsteadiness. “I was afraid you were paralyzed.”

“Nope. Just stabbed by a giant alien weapon,” he says, as if that’s not _horrifying_. “‘Tis but a scratch.”

“I’m sure,” Harley deadpans. Tony’s walk over is slow and steady; he grips the sandwich like it’s the very thing that’s giving him the energy to stand. “You sure you don’t need any help, old man?”

A scoff. “Who are you calling old?”

“The man who needs a wheelchair, obviously.”

Tony finally falls into him, wrapping his arms tight around him.

“God, you’re tall,” Tony mumbles. “And smelly. You _reek._ And that’s coming from someone who was once captured in a cave for three months.”

“Shut up,” Harley mumbles, gripping him tighter. “It’s the sandwich. Tuna breath.”

“Right, I’m sure that’s all to blame. Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought you were dead.”

Harley tenses and Tony responds by simply squeezing him tighter.

“You should have known better,” Harley whispers. “I didn’t think _you_ were dead, even when everyone else did.  Y’know why?”

Tony pulls back then, brow furrowed and wrinkles prominent as he lays a hand atop Harley’s head. “Why?”

Harley purses his lips, trying to imitate the exact, condescending expression Tony had on his face when he got in that car and drove out of Rose Hill five years ago.

“‘Cause we’re connected.”

And despite it all, Tony breathes out a laugh.


	4. Chapter 4

“So...which one is the Sorcerer’s Stone again?”

Harley’s half asleep, trying to listen to Tony’s crash course on Infinity Stones, Thanos, and all the bullshit that exists in outer space. If it wasn’t for the sheer importance of it all, Harley would have conked out the moment he laid eyes on Tony’s hospital cot. Snatched it right from under him.  But instead, he’s allowed himself to be dragged to a makeshift lab that Tony dubs _Keener Garage Mark II_ upon his arrival. It’s got the essentials for a genius engineer like Tony Stark, even if it isn’t up to his normal standards: including an office chair Harley claimed five seconds after seeing it, hoping to doze. Doesn’t work. Because _Ariel’s_ wide awake, which in turn is keeping _him_ awake, because she keeps asking questions that seem to be chipping away at Tony’s patience.

He doesn’t blame his sister. All this stone talk is pretty ridiculous.

“None,” Tony answers her. “This isn’t Harry Potter.”

Ariel pulls a face, clearly disagreeing. “Magic stones….wizards….Hermione’s time turner…. An evil, ugly dude like Voldemort. It sounds like Harry Potter to me.”

Harley closes his eyes and allows himself to spin lazily in a circle, his foot kicking off a metal table for momentum. “The orange one,” he says, voice hoarse. “The soul one. You can manipulate someone’s soul to live forever. Boom, immortality. Sorcerer’s stone.”

“You’re assuming souls are synonymous with physical bodies,” Ariel fires back, sounding much too mature for Harley’s liking. Ugh, it’s like she belongs in a college lecture hall. He cracks one eye open, to find her staring him down, hands fisted on her hips.

“Are they not?”

Ariel shrugs. “How should I know? I just don’t like that you _assumed.”_

“Well, even if they’re not,” Harley says, letting his eyes close once more, “You’d still be _you_ in a sense, no matter what body you had. You’d have all your memories. Loophole. Still immortality.” A thought strikes him and he stops spinning, peeking one eye open again. “If it’s not the soul stone, which _would_ would it be?”

“Not sure, that’s why I asked.” At this point, Tony is silent, watching on with an expression Harley can’t quite decipher. “The red one could alter reality, so maybe you could create a reality where immortality is a thing. Or the purple one, ‘cause you could give your body so much power it would never age.”

Harley snorts out a laugh and resumes his dizzying spin around the lab. “That, or you’re so powerful nothing could simply kill you.”

Oh.

His foot shoots out to whack against a nearby cart and Harley jerks as the chair comes to a halt. 

_Fuck._

Thanos had the purple power stone. He had _all_ the stones. He was so powerful, nothing could kill him, that’s _exactly_ how this whole mess happened.

So...how do they fix _that?_

How do you kill someone who made themselves a god?

He turns in the chair again, facing the wall, before Tony can catch the panic that’s prickling through his body. Fuck. Stupid Adrenaline. He squeezes his eyes shut as he feels his heart lurch. Once again, he’s _awake_ and for the first time since Harley decided to run away to New York he wonders if he’ll ever calm down enough to actually get some sleep.

“...Purple,” Harley hears through the slight ringing in his ears. Tony’s finally caving and entertaining Ariel’s question. “I guess I’d go with purple, then. Not sure. Haven’t seen Harry Potter. Wish Strange was here to make the final call.”

“Strange what?”

“Doctor Strange.”

“I think you're screwing up this Doctor Who reference.”

Tony laughs, he actually laughs, and Harley’s shifts into a lower gear. If Tony can still manage a genuine laugh, maybe not everything isn’t going down the shitter. Maybe Thanos isn’t as powerful as he seems. Maybe there’s another way.

“Harley? Bud, you still with us?”

He takes a steadying breath and spins back around; both Tony and Ariel grimace.

“You look awful,” Tony notes, staring him directly in the bag-ridden eyes.

Ariel rats him out. “He hasn’t slept in _forever._ Like, three days.”

Harley is too tired to even try and figure out if that’s true. It certainly feels that way.

“Does that mean I’m safe to assume you haven’t absorbed much of Professor Stark’s lesson on Infinity Stones?”

“I’m fine,” Harley says, eyes drooping. He shrinks down in the seat so his head is clear on the back of the chair, his feet propped high on the metal workbench. Maybe he can sleep after all. “And I’ve been listening. Just not participating. Didn’t know you were going for a whole Socratic Seminar vibe, _Mr. Stark.”_

Harley quickly figures out he’s said something wrong.

Because just like that, as quick as a snap of some evil dude’s fingers, Tony starts to freak out.

It’s not sobbing. It’s not tears, or an angry tantrum. It’s so much worse than that. Harley feels the silence constrict around them and his heart kicks into gear again, adrenaline telling him to run, to fight, _don’t close your eyes,_ and Tony is just...staring. Shaking. His jaw is tight, trembling, and there’s a tear slipping down his cheek.

God, he looks so _lost._

“I’m sorry.” Harley isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. He looks at Ariel, who is shrinking away in fear. She’s never seen someone like this before. She doesn’t know a panic attack when she sees one. But Harley does. He’s talked him down from one before.

But he doesn’t know how to do it when he’s panicking himself.

“I’m sorry,” Harley repeats, scrambling out of the chair. Tony is still shaking, still silent. He’s staring at Harley like he’s a ghost, like he’s turning to dust _right then and there_ and what do you say to that? How do you fix that? With a quick joke and a laugh? Harley had been wrong - that’s not a fix, that’s a distraction. A distraction from the stones and the emptiness and the death and -

How are they going to fix any of this?

“I’ll leave,” Harley croaks out, head spinning. The door. He’s got to find the door. And his sister...His sister. They should go. “Ariel.”

“What?” she whispers from across the room. “What’s happening? Harley, what’s wrong with you two? Why are you guys crying?”

He reaches up and touches his cheek. It’s wet. He’s crying. When did he start crying?

When did _he_ start freaking out?

“We should go. I don’t...I don’t….” He feels terrible, sick even, like he did when they first got to New York. “I should go.” He cradles his forehead in his palm. “I don’t feel so good.”

_“No.”_

Harley snaps his head up and forces himself to look at Tony. The man’s still a mess, but something he’s said has caused a major shift yet again. A spark comes alive in Tony’s eyes and he marches over with such determination that he’s mildly surprised with the tenderness of which he uses to grab Harley’s hand.

He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Harley watches as the man holds his hand in his own the way a scientist would hold something to the light, inspecting it, studying it, making sure it’s _real._ Tony’s hands are clammy in his own and he kinda wants to let go but -

“You don’t have to go.” Tony says quietly, his eyes never leaving their hands. He gives his fingers a tight _tight_ squeeze; it hurts a bit.

But Harley’s starting to understand.

“I didn’t die.” He tries to make his voice as firm and confident as possible. “I’m not going to turn to dust. You can let go.”

Tony hums in disbelief. “I thought that once before,” and Harley can hear him coming back to reality, just in the tone of his voice. “I wanted it so badly to be true that I convinced myself that it wasn’t _physically_ possible. But it happened anyway. I lost the kid.”

“Kid? What kid?”

There’s no explanation. Tony simply steps forward and collects Harley in another hug. It’s too mushy for his liking.

But he supposes this is what friends do.

 

* * *

 

Tony excuses himself pretty quickly after his mini freak-out, retreating to his wheelchair and rolling himself back to his room. Ariel is at a loss of what to say; she keeps weaving her hair into a braid only to unravel it so she can do it _over_ and _over._ If Harley didn’t know it was a nervous habit he’d think she was trying to set a record on how fast she could do it; but in reality, she’s probably barely aware she’s even messing with her hair.

“Hey, Bruce, have you seen - oh.”

Harley’s back in the office chair, tired, but unable to close his eyes. He whirls around and finds a woman in comically large glasses and high-waisted pants, holding a plate of food. She looks so unlike everyone else he’s seen come in and out of the building, and not just because of how she’s dressed. There’s something overly exhausted about her. “Hi.”

“Hey there,” she breathes out; it sounds like relief. “I’m sorry, I was looking for Tony.” She holds out the food as evidence. “I was hoping he’d try it.”

He eyes the food - some kind of elaborate pasta. It smells incredible. “I induced a panic attack,” Harley says, shrugging, trying not to make a big deal of it even when guilt is clawing away at the pit of his stomach. “He’s probably gone to lay down.”

“Oh.” The woman is frowning. “Harley and Ariel, right?”

Jesus, how does everyone know his name? “Yeah,” Harley croaks. “Just drove in from Tennessee.”

“I’m May.” She nods before she stabs the pasta with the fork she’s brought along and heads over his way. “Well, you must be hungry if you’ve driven all that way. Want some?”

Harley wants to shake his head, assure the woman that he’s had his half a tuna sandwich and constant anxiety for lunch, but man does that pasta smell good.

“Sure,” he whispers. “I’ll try it.”

She pulls up a chair beside Harley while gesturing Ariel to come over. His sister finishes her braid one last time before she skips over, standing behind him in the chair and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. Her chin rests on his head.

May smiles at them.

“I’ve never been a really good cook,” she admits, picking at the pasta with the fork and trying to create the perfect bite. “But ever since…well, I’ve been practicing these past few weeks. Trying to feed all these superheroes. I don't have their brains, so it's...it's what I can do to help. I think I’m getting pretty good at pasta.” She holds out the fork, but not for Harley to grab it. She’s trying to _feed_ him.

He doesn’t argue. He opens his mouth and his tongue explodes with the flavors of what has to be some of the best pasta in New York.

May is staring at him, hopeful, while he chews, so he figures he should say something. “That’s good.” A hand comes to cover his mouth as he still chews. “Like, really good.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Ariel bounces, slapping his head in excitement. “I want to try!”

May laughs and just like she had with Harley, she carefully makes the perfect bite and feeds her herself. Harley can hear his sister humming in delight as she chews.

“Don’t drool on my head,” he warns.

“I’ll drool on your head if I want to drool on your head.”

The woman laughs. “Should have brought more forks.”

“It’s okay,” Ariel assures, not minding in the slightest about sharing with a stranger. In all honesty, Harley doesn’t either. It feels like sharing with a mom, _his_ mom, and that’s not a bad thing. “I don’t have cooties. Can’t speak for Harley.”

He yanks on her braid. She slaps his head. May laughs again.

The finish the pasta together, passing the fork around and occasionally feeding each other. The woman nearly loses it when Ariel gets a hold of the fork and starts making airplane noises and in Harley’s attempt to dodge it, gets pasta sauce on his cheek.

“You should get some sleep,” May says eventually. Her hand reaches out, like she's about to wipe the pasta sauce off his cheek, but she stops herself, almost looking horrified.

That’s when he realizes May _is_ a mother.

And she’s lost someone.

“Yeah,” Harley agrees, wiping his cheek. He doesn’t know if he can sleep, but he definitely should. “I’ll get to it.”

May frowns, brow furrowed. “Having trouble?”

Mind reader. “Something like that.”

Ariel leans into him, resting her cheek on the top of his head. “He hasn’t slept well for weeks. Never left the garage. I tried to make him sleepy time tea, but he never drank it.”

Fuck. Harley didn’t know she knew that. And he didn’t know that’s what the tea was for all those times.

May hums and reaches out, this time without hesitation. Her hand cards through his hair a few times before she gives his cheek a single, reassuring pat. “You kids don’t deserve this.”

“No one does.”

He closes his eyes.

May’s hand runs through his hair one last time.

There's no adrenaline. His heart is slow, steady. Safe.

And he finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I made up Ariel but like....I would die for Ariel. I love her lol.
> 
> Also May for surrogate mom????? you bet ur ass!!!!!
> 
> This will probably be the last chapter for a bit??? not a horrifically long time, I promise! I'm working on a set of 12 irondad & spideyson christmas fics so look out for those. I've got 5 done already. I might write another chapter when inspiration strikes and I need a break from all the holiday stuff lol.


	5. Chapter 5

Harley quickly discovers he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

There isn’t much for him to _do,_ at least in terms of the plans to reverse whatever Thanos has done. He’s too young, too out of the loop, too…. _normal_ to help the super enhanced soldiers, assassins, brainy scientists, and axe-wielding gods come up with anything substantial. The realization stings at first, but he shrugs it off easily enough because not even Tony seems to know half of what’s going on,

So, he finds himself all over the place. Sometimes he trails Michelle and Ned to Midtown to help people find those who survived or comfort those who are here to confess who is gone. The two teens stay at the compound with May because, like Harley and his sister, they’ve been orphaned by Thanos. May hasn’t said what’s happened to her family, but she doesn’t have to. The fact that she’s looking after four random children like they’re her own says enough.

But sometimes, Midtown High is too much for Ariel, so Harley stays behind in Tony’s big tower, just the two of them, which isn’t so bad. Tony lets him and Ariel sit in on conference calls with the other Avengers, who are apparently at this compound upstate. They ask Tony a million and one questions, Tony asks _them_ a million and one questions, and Harley gets lost pretty early on. Ariel, like clockwork, falls asleep on him every time before Harley can even think to get a pen and paper and start taking notes. Especially when she overhears the part about how Spider-Man didn't come back from that alien planet.

She's pretty sad, after that. Drained. Like it's the straw that breaks the camels back. He's not sure sure why that, why  _Spider-Man,_ but trauma is a funny thing. Harley has no judgments. 

So, it becomes a habit: falling asleep wherever she can lay. Harley doesn’t know what to make of it. Tony’s given them a room to share, but Ariel doesn’t like to spend any time there. She sleeps on the couches in the common areas or in chairs in the lab. Once, Harley found her asleep against the kitchen island of Tony’s personal suite. But every time, no matter what weird spot she chooses to build her nest and sleep in, Harley collects her in his arms and carries her to their room in an attempt to remind her what a _bed is._

“Hey.”

Harley hasn’t seen Tony in a few days. He’s been working on nanites, as he called them, and once again, it was something out of Harley’s range of expertise, so he’s been elsewhere. But it seems the last few days have been good to Tony, physically. He’s ditched the wheelchair, and there isn’t a cane in sight. He’s simply relaxing on the sofa, sipping on a can of soda and scrolling through something on his tablet.

“Hey,” Harley tries to match Tony’s warm tone, but it comes out as a grunt as he has readjust his hold on Ariel. She’s dead to world, tired for seemingly no reason, and he’s just come off the elevator after going down to get her from the gym where Pepper found her.

Harley doesn’t ask for permission. He simply carries his sister over to the long couch and decides this is as good a bed as some smelly gym mat, arranging themselves so Harley is sitting up and the top of Ariel’s head is brushing his leg as she curls up beside him.

“She fell asleep against the kitchen counter yesterday, did you know that?” Tony asks.

“Yeah,” Harley mumbles, running his fingers through her loose hair. “It’s probably a stress thing, I dunno. She’s never left home, until now.” She's never been this long without their mom or her friends either, but he doesn't say that.

Tony hums like he understands. He probably does. “What about you? FRIDAY found you in the garage in your car two days ago.”

Shit. He didn’t think Tony would know about that. “ _I’ve_ never left home, until now,” he says, as if that’s good enough. Maybe it is. It _feels_ like it is, because Harley doesn’t know why he did it. It just….felt right.

Tony gets up after that, wandering to the small wet bar in the corner. He bypasses all the liquor and grabs another soda, coming back to hand it to Harley. “It’s okay. I get it. Certain things feel like home, even if they don’t make sense. And it’s nice to be home.”

There’s _layers_ in what he’s just said, Harley can _hear_ them. Five years ago, Tony was terrified of space, the absolute furthest thing from home a human can get. But he followed those aliens back up, again, and this time there was no wormhole for him to fall back out of. It took him weeks to come home.

He sets the soda aside. He's not thirsty. “Is it still scary?” Harley asks, because in all the meetings and all the phone calls, Tony hasn’t really talked about it.

“Is what scary?”

“Is space still scary?”

There’s no panic attack, no steady climb of his heart rate, no shallow and empty breaths. Tony’s expression turns contemplative as his eyes drift upward and to the right, as if he can see what he saw out there on the ceiling, right out of the corner of the eye.

“I was up there a long time. Before another ship helped us out, there were….a few days where supplies were low and outcomes were bleak and I was writing Pepper goodbye messages and it was all very _bad,”_ he lingers on the word, like it’s not enough but it’s the best he can do. “But there were no aliens shooting at me this time. No giant, ugly, death ships. No nuclear weapons. There was no one around. Anywhere. Nebula and I were just….drifting. Slow. Like a canoe down a lazy river. And I saw….” he blows out a breath, amazed at his own memory. “I saw some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Shit artists would paint over and over again on canvases that Pepper would inevitably pay too much for and hang in our house. It felt like I saw every star there ever was, but I knew we hadn’t even scratched the surface.”

He trails off then, still looking up and seemingly lost in his memories. Harley’s eyes flicker to follow his gaze, but all he sees out the panoramic window is a starless sky. Dark, like a vengeful ocean.

“I was scared I was going to die. That no one would know what had happened to me on that planet. That no one would know what had happened to _Peter,_ light years away from home.But, for the first time since that damn wormhole, I was not afraid of space. It doesn't scare me anymore."

But despite Tony’s heartfelt confession, something doesn’t sit right with Harley. There are pieces he’s trying to put together every day, and while he knows that Peter was a part of Tony’s life, a part of Michelle and Ned’s life, a part of _everyone’s_ life around here, it doesn’t make sense why he would have been up in space with Tony. Ariel’s Youtube study session proved to be the truth: Tony went up on the spaceship with Spider-Man and the wizard. Which means...

“...Peter’s Spider-Man, isn’t he.”

Tony reaches over and ruffles Harley’s hair. “You’ve always been smart.” His eyes are looking at him, but Harley can tell he’s someplace else, in his mind. “Yeah, bud. He was.”

There’s that past tense. Harley wishes everyone would stop using it, even if it’s true. He doesn’t like thinking that this can’t be fixed. He can’t deal with the thought. So he tries to focus on making him feel _alive._ “Tell me about him.”

“Spider-Man?”

“No,” Harley shakes his head. “Peter. Spider-Man is just a footnote. Kinda like you with Iron Man, right? Like all these superheroes. You aren’t just the identity you blast to the world.”

Tony gives what might _pass_ as a smile. “Not everyone thinks of us that way.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I know better.” He starts to weave a small braid in Ariel's hair, occasionally smoothing strays behind her ear. “I wanna know about Peter. Tell me.”

“He was…”

He takes a deep breath.

“He was smart. Really smart. Bit of a dumbass though when it came to looking after himself. Threw himself in front of danger every time if it meant helping someone. Polite. Always Mr. Stark this, Mr. Stark that. He died in my _arms_ and told me he was _sorry_ about it…God the poor kid was so _scared..._ ”

Tony’s left arm starts to shake. He clenches his fists, knuckles turning white, begging it to stop. Harley recalls calling him Mr. Stark, teasingly, back in the lab the day he freaked out. He wonder how much his voice echoed like Peter’s.

“Peter was _kind,”_ and Tony’s voice breaks on the last word. He’s stumbling, mentally, and Harley watches as he pulls himself together. “The world dealt him more than a few shitty hands and was just _kinder_ for it. I don’t have that kind of strength.”

Harley disagrees. He thinks Tony is kind, in his own strange way. Afghanistan, the attack on New York, the Mandarin, and now _this._ Tony could have given up. Could have left Iron Man in the dust, but he didn’t. He’s still trying to make things right, even when it’s hard. Even when it seems impossible.

And maybe that’s not kindness. Maybe that’s heroism, or brawn, or flat out ego driven stupidity in an attempt to be remembered well. But even all that takes some kind of strength, an _inner strength._ And that comes….from caring for the world you live in.

It comes from _kindness._

“He was….”

Tony doesn’t go on for a long time. He’s back to looking up at the ceiling, thinking about space, about drifting and dying and fighting Thanos and _losing_ that Harley fears he might not come back to reality for a long time. There’s no panic attack, no steady climb of his heart rate, no shallow and empty breaths, but his eyes get glossy. He’s not afraid.

He’s sad.

“He was my _kid_.”

Harley reaches over and grabs Tony’s hand. He squeezes it _tight tight tight_ and it _hurts_ but it can’t hurt anymore than the heartbreak written on Tony’s face.

They stay there on the couch. Ariel draped over Harley, Harley awkwardly holding Tony’s hand, and Tony sitting beside them, closer, his gaze lifted to the dark sky looming in the window before them until his eyes slip and he falls asleep, Harley close behind.

He dreams of a sea of stars he’s never seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to write this chapter for awhile, but the new trailer kind of helped me with my dumb ~star~ metaphors and bleh whatever I'm a sap. inspiration struck, so here you go. I don't normally like chapters quite this short, but it really needs to stand alone. So here it is.
> 
> cheers.
> 
> also haha bethany you aren't reading this yet but like one more chapter brUH and then it's all done.


	6. Chapter 6

Eventually, there’s a concrete plan.

Harley only gets snippets of it, but he knows the plan is to be executed outside of New York, starting at the fancy compound that Tony built a few years. The last few days have been scarce of Stark sightings. He’s been holed up in his lab with Rhodey, packing up and collecting materials to join the other Avengers who have all made it there by now. Michelle, Ned, and May have been just as scarce, focusing more on the relief efforts in Queens and Harley feels...lost. It feels like he and Ariel don’t quite belong in New York. But it’s not like he felt like he belonged in Rose Hill, now that’s its dust.

So he tries to accept the feeling that he’ll never quite fit in anywhere again.

The last day that Tony spends in New York, Harley catches him in his kitchen early morning, shoveling dry cereal into his mouth. He’s reading some holographic article that dates from the 1990’s. There’s a fuzzy blue picture of an air force pilot that Harley can only identify as _Carol Danvers_ from the caption once he’s reading completely over Tony’s shoulder.

“Crazy strong,” Tony says, mouth full. Harley groans at the colorful _mess_ that is the unchewed food in his mouth. Sometimes living with Tony is like living with two Ariels. “Like. Deity strong or some shit. Can’t believe I’ve never seen her yet.”

Harley squints, looking at the picture. Carol Danvers. She looks as human as Tony and him. But then again, so does Thor. Sorta. Thor _is_ unfairly attractive. He understands his sister’s crush. “Is she an Avenger?”

“Yep. She’s gonna help. So is Scott Lang. All a part of the plan.”

“Who is Scott Lang.” He reaches for some cereal.

“Ant-Man.”

“Who the fuck is _Ant-Man.”_

“He’s the one that made the news about the giant robot eating whales in the San Francisco Bay before this whole Thanos bullshit.”

“Oh my god, that was real? I thought it was an Onion article.”

Tony laughs a little before he pats Harley’s head with the hand that isn’t covered in cereal dust. “Yeah, it’s real. He’s quite the character from what I’ve gathered in our video calls. You’ll like him.”

Harley shrugs. “Maybe one day I’ll get to meet him.”

“What?” Tony says, tossing one single fruit loop up in the air to catch in his mouth. He misses. “You’ll meet him when we go upstate.”

“What do you mean _we?”_

Tony snorts, throwing a few pieces of cereal at Haley’s nose. Definitely two Ariels. “You’re my point man. You gotta come with me.”

“Why me?” He asked that question before, on the phone call with Pepper. _Because you’re still here_ she had said, and Harley’s been trying to push away the feeling that he was simply number so and so, far down and obsolete, only important when so many of the others are gone.

“Because,” Tony says. “You’ve done this job before. I trust you. You can do this. _We_ can do this. So pack a bag and let’s get crackin’. You’re driving. Kinda want to take that Mustang.”

When Tony smiles at him, it’s easier to push that feeling of worthlessness away. He came to help. He’s gonna help.

They’re gonna fix this.  


* * *

 

“Alright. So that’s the plan. You good?”

“Sorta….this quantum realm stuff is...it’s some stuff.”

“Tell me about it. But you know what to do, specifically?"

“Yes. That much I can understand.”

“You’re set up through the comms. If I call you, _pick up this time.”_

“I will, I will. Got your back.”

“I know you do, kid. See you on the other side.”

 

* * *

 

They fix it.

By God, the Avengers _actually fix it._

But Harley loses Tony.

Not in a physical sense. Well, sort of. He's pretty sure he's not dead, at least. Harley loses him on the comms after the reports of people materializing start coming in. He’s in mild panic as he tries to track him down, and it isn’t until he gets a hold of Scott Lang does Harley figure out that the first thing Tony has done after saving everyone is _launch himself back into space._

“Why the fuck,” Harley pauses to drag a hand down his face. “Why the fuck is he back in space?”

 _“People are materializing where they vanished,”_ Scott explains. _“The Guardians are still on Titan. So is Strange and Spider-Man. He and Nebula went to go get them.”_

Harley does some quick math. The only spacecraft on Earth that could get to Titan is the one that came _back_ from Titan, and it’s...in bad shape. “They didn’t take that musty-ass ship they came in, did they?”

_"...Nebula fixed it. Sorta. Mostly. It’s fine for a space Uber.”_

Harley groans. “He’s still gonna be gone for like, _a month.”_

_“You don’t know that. And hey, better than two years like Hulk was.”_

“You’re not helping.” Harley whines, eyes scanning the feed that’s popping up on his holographic screens in front of him. Ned’s anthem of _Guy in the Chair_ echoes in his head. “I promised I’d keep an eye on him until he got back.”

_“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to -”_

“I promised,” Harley sighs. “I’m not backing down. I’m just...annoyed with Tony. A little warning would have been nice.”

_“Join the club. We’re called the Avengers.”_

He snorts, just as his phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out, the word _Home_ flashes across the screen and Harley nearly drops his phone trying to swipe his finger across the screen to answer it. He doesn’t even bid Lang farewell as he disconnects that call and presses the phone to his ear, breath caught in his throat.

_“Harley!? Harley, baby, are you there?”_

His breath hitches. “Mom?”

 _“My God! Harley!”_ She’s crying and with the the third call of his name, Harley is too. _“I’m so sorry I don’t know...I don’t know what’s happening. Where are you? Where’s your sister?”_

“I’m okay,” he sobs. “I’m with Ariel, we’re okay. We’re in New York. Mom....” He barely gets the words out as he cries, wiping desperately at his eyes. “Mom…” he tries again, a feeble attempt to start talking about the _shit show_ that has happened on Earth since she’s been gone, but he can’t do it. It’s too much.

 _“Hey, hey, hey.”_ Her voice is soft and sweet, the southern touch to it making him feel like he’s back at home. “ _Deep breaths, baby. I’m here. It’s okay.”_

“You’re back.”

 _“I’m...back.”_ He knows she’s confused, but he’s too overwhelmed to say what needs to be said.

He pulls the phone away for a moment and starts to yell for Ariel before he says, “Mom?”

_“Yeah, baby.”_

“I have some things I have to finish.” His eyes scan the holographic screens before him, thumbing through the missing Avenger’s files. Slowly, the pictures of those who had fallen start to light up. Peter Parker’s remains dim, as does Tony’s, but Harley has hope. Tony’s come back once. He’s come back twice. He’ll come back a third time.

“We’ll be home soon. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

He and Ariel stay in upstate New York, monitoring for Tony, when he finally calls them two weeks out. The message comes in through one of Tony’s spare helmets from the older Iron Man models that Harley’s been keeping and taking care of for the past couple of days. He slaps the helmet on, too angry to think about how _cool_ it is, and puts on his best frown as Tony’s tired, blood-crusted face comes in through the mask.

Always a wounded man, Tony Stark.

But at least he’s smiling this time.

_“Hey kiddie.”_

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Harley deadpans.

_“Get in line. Pepper’s got dibs.”_

“Two whole-ass weeks, Stark.”

 _“Surprisingly, the planets outside our solar system are like,_ bonkers _far away.”_

“I hate you,” he sighs. “Did you get Peter and Harry Potter?”

_“Check and check! Plus some other idiots. They’ve been portal hopping, trying to get supplies and stuff before they head back, but even a wizard can't get it right every time. I eventually got a hold of Peter’s tracker in his suit. We’ll be back soon.”_

“How soon.”

_“Uhh, ten seconds hopefully. If Harry Potter does this transportation spell right.”_

It’s more like fifteen. But there’s this bright, dazzling, golden circle of light and space and _science magic bullshit_ before Tony, some other idiots, and the wizard walk through. Spider-Man is there too, quite literally pressed to Tony’s side and looking as exhausted and torn down as Tony did when he came back to Earth from Titan the first time.

Peter is a kid, Harley’s always known that. But with Spider-Man standing before him, it hits him, _really hits him._ He looks small and in a way, he is - he’s kind of short - but it’s his face that really does it. Young and soft and nothing like the hardened faces of the other Avengers he’s seen around. Peter is a superhero that fought on an alien planet, but he’s just a _kid._

In that moment, Harley misses the simplicity of Rose Hill. He _belongs_ in Rose Hill, and he wants to go home.

“Ta-da,” Tony grins, smile only more sinister when he sees the helmet still on Harley’s head. “Awww, have you been playing Iron Man while I’ve been gone?”

“You’re literally the worst,” Harley sighs, removing the front face plate and setting it aside. He keeps the helmet on just to be a little shit.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he says and it makes Peter laugh, just a little; he sags afterwards, nearly fainting right into Tony. But he’s still smiling. “Now, can you help me get this kid to medical? He’s fine, but he needs fluids. And cookies. And rest, lots of rest. His health bar is a bit low, as the kids say.”

“No kid says that,” Harley says, but he approaches Peter on the other side and slings an arm around his shoulder, propping him up.The Iron Spider suit is cold against his skin as it grazes the back of his neck.  As they start walking over, Tony mumbling about fast metabolisms and pushing limits, he looks over at a droopy-eyed Peter. “Hey, Peter?”

His eyes flicker over to him, a little more light in them with the mention of his name. Harley doesn’t really know how much Tony said about him, but judging by how Peter doesn’t seem alarmed at him knowing his identity, Harley figures he knows enough. It’s a nice thought, knowing that Tony mentioned him.

“When you’re feeling better, do you think I can get an autograph? My sister Ariel is _obsessed.”_

Peter manages another laugh before he concentrates on walking again - left, right, left, right. Harley pulls him a little closer to assure him that he’s got him. He won’t fall on his watch.

“Yeah, man. No problem.”

He feels the discrete feeling of Peter’s fingers curling against his arm. After a few moments he realizes he’s trying to give his arm a soft, friendly pat.

Harley meets him halfway, patting the top of Peter’s fingers and flashing him a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic has always been meant to be a in between the Big Super Hero Moments and their Super Important Plans. that's why I don't really go into the plan and also....I don't understand how Endgame is even going to work I don't know how they're gonna fix it the russo brothers are so hush hush but BRUH....idk what's going on. anyway. don't @ me for the lack of "plan" okay who the fuck even knows NOT I!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> This fic is basically over I'm just gonna have a short epilogue it'll be up in like 3 days bye!!!!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

Peter is fine.

Tony’s right about the fluids and the cookies. Apparently, the snap was harder on Peter than most other people; he disintegrated a lot more slowly than the others because of his powers and when he came back, it made all his senses and powers haywire and left him perpetually exhausted, burdened with injuries from his fight with Thanos the first time around. But he’s fine. The hook him up to an IV, feed him sugar, give him fluffy pillows, and let him sleep.

Harley’s there when May comes around. It’s not until May bursts into tears, holding Peter like she’s his life that he realizes _he is._ This is her son. And she has him back.

He misses his own mom.

But May still spares Harley a hug and a kiss on the cheek before she eventually leaves Peter to get more rest.

His friends Ned and Michelle, they come by, too. They sit and talk while Harley continues to linger in the corner, a protective arm around his sister as she sinks against his side, nearly asleep. He doesn’t belong here, he knows this. He may vaguely know Peter’s friends, but he’s not a part of his life and he doesn’t have any right to witness these...personal reunions with the people he loves.

But Peter came with Tony and Tony...Tony’s his responsibility, in a way. Not forever, not in every way, but he wants to be assured he’s still all in one piece before he and Ariel go home.

And Harley isn’t the only one lingering. Tony is on the opposite end of the room collapsed in one chair, feet propped up in another. He sleeps most of the time but when he’s awake, Harley catches him staring at Peter, a soft smile on his face. It’s not until May, Ned, and Michelle all leave does Harley see Tony scoot his chair over to a sleeping Peter’s bedside.

They don’t say anything. Tony simply flashes gives him a smile before he lays his head down on the foot of Peter’s cot and goes to sleep.

“Harley?”

He’s in the middle of braiding his sleeping sister’s hair when he looks up to find Peter awake in his bed. Tony’s still asleep and Peter has copied Harley’s game of _mess with the sleeping person’s hair,_ attempting to knot little braids in Tony’s hair. It’s not going so well.

“Can you show me how to do that?” Peter whispers, pointing to Ariel’s hair. “I’m trying to give Mr. Stark a makeover.”

“Unfortunately, you cannot make braids of a balding man’s hair.”

Peter snickers. “I’m telling him you said that.”

“Please don’t. I’d rather say it to his face myself.”

His grin broadens before he stops messing with Tony’s hair. “Mr. Stark told me a lot about you.”

Harley forces himself not to bow his head in embarrassment. He’s not one that’s ever been _talked about_ a whole lot. “All terrible things, I’m sure.”

Peter smiles, shaking his head in amusement, before he looks down and pokes Tony’s cheek. The man lets out a loud snore that has both boys laughing. But Tony doesn’t wake.

“Thanks for looking after him.”

That’s….unexpected. “I didn’t really do anything.”

“You _helped._ That’s everything.”

Harley lets out a long sigh in attempts to cover up _feelings_. “No problem. I’m no stranger to babysitting,” he pats Ariel’s arm and Peter laughs again.

There’s a groan and then Tony says, “You guys suck.” His voice is thick with sleep and his eyes are still closed. He refuses to lift his head from Peter’s bed.

But Peter seems determined to get him to do so. He pokes his cheek incessantly before Tony snatches out and grabs Peter’s index finger, mumbling some half-hearted threat about breaking it. Peter’s still laughing at his own antics as Tony’s hand relaxes around Peter’s, giving it a soft squeeze. Their hands remained intertwined for a moment before Tony lets go, hand falling against Peter’s knee, and falls back asleep.

“So you’re his kid, huh?”

Peter take a moment before he looks up, embarrassment flushing his cheeks and causing him to fidget. But then Tony lets out another snore and Peter relaxes.

“Yeah,” Peter answers, meeting Harley’s eyes. “I guess I am.”

“Good,” Harley grins, “I’m glad.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you have everything?”

Harley rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time as he finishes packing up all of his stuff into the Mustang. He gives the trunk an extra push, making sure it closes with a slam. “Yes, good _Christ._ Tony, you are worse than Ariel.”

Tony looks down at his sister as he reaches into his jacket pocket. “Here,” he tells her, handing her a Stark watch. It’s pink, just like she asked. He sticks another blue one into Ariel’s pocket and adds, “You can give your brother his when he quits being so _mean.”_

“Soooo, I keep the watch forever,” she looks over and blows a raspberry Harley’s way before she says, “How much do these sell for on Ebay?”

“Wow. That hurts. You both suck. Must run in the family.”

Ariel just keeps smiling her stupid smile as she puts her watch on. She doesn’t object when Harley comes over to nab his. “You should make them like, slap bracelets.” He says, fiddling with the notches on the straps. “Remember slap bracelets? Watches should be slap bracelets.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not really, no.”

Beside them, Peter laughs. It only took a day or two and then he was back on his feet like nothing had ever happened. The Avengers & CO. were still in the compound upstate, getting things ready to disperse back to….wherever their lives were before this whole mess. It gave Peter enough time to show them all these cool Spider-Man tricks, including his suit and web shooters, and gave Ariel enough time to fall in _love._ Peter Parker has definitely taken Thor’s spot in marriage outlooks, especially when he gives her and Harley his phone number.

“I put extra jugs of gasoline in the back seat,” Tony says. He won’t meet his eyes and instead fiddles with Harley’s jacket, dusting off the sleeves. “Just in case.”

“I know.”

“Tucked a few dollars in your wallet, too.”

Ariel immediately reaches into Harley’s pocket - he slaps her hand away. “I know.”

“Don’t drive the whole way. I want you to stop and _sleep.”_ He pauses and starts messing with his phone. “Maybe I can call a hotel -”

“Tony. I can get me and Ariel bunked up in a hotel.”

“He’s lying,” she sing-songs, running over to give Peter his sixth goodbye hug. “He’s gonna drive the whole way.”

Peter clicks his tongue, feigning disapproval, before he gently tugs on Ariel’s braid and taps her nose. “That’s why _you’re_ in charge.”

She beams. “Aye, aye, Spider-Man.” And there’s a seventh hug. 

Harley’s halfway to rolling his eyes so hard they fall out of his head when Tony reaches forward and pulls Harley in for a hug. “Be careful, kid. Call me when you get there.”

He nods, suddenly craving the hug, and squeezes back. “I will. Tony?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for getting our mom back. For getting everyone back.”

“Saving the world. It’s what I do.”

Harley pinches Tony on the arm and just like that, the mushy stuff is over. The pull apart, but not without one last pat to his shoulder. Ariel climbs into the car, settling in for a nap, before Harley jumps in to join her. As he puts the keys into the ignition, he watches as Tony and Peter settle closer to each other, one arm around Peter’s shoulders.

Without another word, Harley pulls out and heads for home. He watches Tony and Peter wave goodbye in his rear view mirror before they disappear.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen hours later, a near midnight sky, and possibly twenty-five spam-like text messages from Ariel in the _Tennessee Outreach for Spider-Man_ group chat, his sister finally gets bored with talking Harley’s ear off and turns on the new radio they put in the car before they left New York. She fiddles endlessly, Harley nearly _twitching_ with the constant sound changes and static, before she finally settles on a station.

_“Hey y’all. This is DJ Rocket Man -”_

Ariel smiles, leaning her head against Harley’s shoulder. “She’s back.”

They don’t know if she even left. But that’s okay. Because she’s there, just like Harley’s mom and the rest of Rose Hill. It’s familiar, it’s routine, it’s _home._

He pushes down on the gas pedal a little harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh it's done. thanks if u read it!!!!! fun times

**Author's Note:**

> y'all: stop starting more bad fics and finish the awful ones you have already started you scoundrel  
> me, opening up another 'untitled' google doc:.......no.
> 
> I don't think...they mentioned his sister's name. So I gave her one!
> 
> shoutout to bowlingfornerds for reminding me how much of a darling little shit harley is. I gots to write about him now.


End file.
